The War Terror eBook

“There seem to have been a number of very peculiar
disappearances lately,” resumed Kennedy, “but
this case of Mrs. Edwards is by far the most extraordinary.
Of course the Star hasn’t had that—­yet,”
he concluded, handing me a sheet of notepaper.

“Mr. Waldon didn’t give it out, hoping
to avoid scandal.”

I took the paper and read eagerly, in a woman’s
hand:

“Mydearmissfox:
I have been down here at Seaville on our houseboat,
the Lucie, for several days for a purpose which now
is accomplished.

“Already I had my suspicions of you, from a
source which I need not name. Therefore, when
the Kronprinz got into wireless communication with
the station at Seaville I determined through our own
wireless on the Lucie to overhear whether there would
be any exchange of messages between my husband and
yourself.

“I was able to overhear the whole thing and
I want you to know that your secret is no longer a
secret from me, and that I have already told Mr. Edwards
that I know it. You ruin his life by your intimacy
which you seem to want to keep up, although you know
you have no right to do it, but you shall not ruin
mine.

“I am thoroughly disillusioned now. I have
not decided on what steps to take, but—­”

Only a casual glance was necessary to show me that
the writing seemed to grow more and more weak as it
progressed, and the note stopped abruptly, as if the
writer had been suddenly interrupted or some new idea
had occurred to her.

Hastily I tried to figure it out. Lucie Waldon,
as everybody knew, was a famous beauty, a marvel of
charm and daintiness, slender, with big, soulful,
wistful eyes. Her marriage to Tracy Edwards,
the wealthy plunger and stockbroker, had been a great
social event the year before, and it was reputed at
the time that Edwards had showered her with jewels
and dresses to the wonder and talk even of society.

As for Valerie Fox, I knew she had won quick recognition
and even fame as a dancer in New York during the previous
winter, and I recalled reading three or four days
before that she had just returned on the Kronprinz
from a trip abroad.

“I don’t suppose you have had time to
see Miss Fox,” I remarked. “Where
is she?”

“At Beach Park now, I think,” replied
Waldon, “a resort a few miles nearer the city
on the south shore, where there is a large colony
of actors.”

I handed back the letter to Kennedy.

“What do you make of it?” he asked, as
he folded it up and put it back into his pocket.

“I hardly know what to say,” I replied.
“Of course there have been rumors, I believe,
that all was not exactly like a honeymoon still with
the Tracy Edwardses.”

“Yes,” returned Waldon slowly, “I
know myself that there has been some trouble, but
nothing definite until I found this letter last night
in my sister’s room. She never said anything
about it either to mother or myself. They haven’t
been much together during the summer, and last night
when she disappeared Tracy was in the city. But
I hadn’t thought much about it before, for, of
course, you know he has large financial interests
that make him keep in pretty close touch with New
York and this summer hasn’t been a particularly
good one on the stock exchange.”